


every time you go

by Companionable



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is a stellar hugger, Genim is the worst name in the history of the planet, In which things get really disgustingly feely, M/M, Things I write where I just want to hug my characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Companionable/pseuds/Companionable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's mouth gets ahead of his brain and Stiles is the one who pays for it. </p><p>"The first time he says it, they’re in the middle of some spectacular foreplay."</p>
            </blockquote>





	every time you go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [-wondersmith](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=-wondersmith).



> Sort of a thing for -wondersmith, because she was saying about how she wanted something about Stiles’ panic attacks, and because I have a fascination with Stiles’ first name that I tried to convey here. It’s something that’s kinda hard for me because I have had panic attacks and they’re always awful, and I don’t know what I would do without either of my parents. So forgive me if it’s a little overkill.
> 
> I tried to keep Stiles’ POV as in character as possible, but I’m sure I failed.

The first time he says it, they’re in the middle of some spectacular foreplay.

Derek’s hands are like, _tantalizing_ in their dance across his hips, his lips whispering his name like a prayer against Stiles’, over and over, a cry for salvation.

Damn if Stiles brain doesn’t take a fall for the poetic when he’s horny, Jesus.

Point is, Derek’s lips are in the crook of his neck, biting with “are those _fangs_ Derek holy God that is, that is, that is awful oh my God I’m going to die from a boner, my boner is going to kill me, this will be the actual Killer Boner, I must be already dead—”

He whispers it in his ear. “Genim”

And _wow_ if that isn’t a boner-killer. That just killed his boner, his boner is in it’s _grave_ , it’s gone. Just... wow. 

He pushes the overgrown puppy off him, and Derek actually _whines_. Whines! “Stiles?”

“You know, despite my admitted negative experience in the bedroom, I have never lost a hard-on as fast as I just did. I’m pretty sure my balls just receded, so, you know. Good job on that one, Champ,” Stiles says, hands on his hips, pants half undone, Derek following him around with his eyes still half-lidded.

“I just… Stiles, I just said your name, I don—”

“No, you said **that** name, not **_my_** name. There is a difference.”

“Stiles is a nickname, Genim is your—”

“Derek!” They’re at opposite sides of the room now. Now it’s a stand off. Now, it’s a fight. Stiles doesn’t want to think about what that means. “Stiles is _my name_. Genim,” and he tries not to let his voice crack and he thinks he succeeds until he watches Derek’s face fall, “is a gift from my mom. Genim is a piece of her that I’ve tucked away. Stiles is my name, Genim is _precious_. And you can’t—you can’t just _use_ it like that, you can’t take it from me like that, you have to stop, Derek…”

They’re not dating. They’re not. It’s just quick hook-ups, it’s just Derek helping Stiles with his stupid teenage hormones. It’s just a fling. They’re not important. Stiles is not important. Derek is Alpha and Stiles is pack which makes him safe. That’s all it is. They’re not dating.

He’s been crying, and now he’s hyperventilating. He realizes belatedly that this is a panic attack, his first in years, and he’s on the floor. Derek’s arms are around him, his voice harried and his face concerned. “Stiles, what do I do? How do I help?”

Stiles points to his backpack, wheezes “inhaler” and clutches weakly at Derek’s thin shirt. His vision is going black, he feels his consciousness leaving him, and then Derek’s pushing the inhaler gently into his mouth, bringing his hand up to the small device, allowing him to press it. Immediately his lungs release. The iron fist of panic unclenches his trachea, and he’s breathing. He presses down on the plunger again, and suddenly the air is swimming in his lungs. It’s all there, and his vision clears to find Derek’s head resting on his chest. He reaches the hand not on the inhaler up and cards it gently through Derek’s hair. “Hey,” he says, still wheezing, still clawing it’s way up his throat, but now he can breath and it’s getting better.

Derek just laughs half-heartedly. “Hey,” he mutters into his chest. When he turns his head to look at Stiles, he’s all Sour Wolf. “Do you mind not doing that to me again?”

Stiles sighs. “No promises.” He drops the inhaler and wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders, pulling him close and lying them on the floor. Derek falls naturally between his knees, his arms vice-like around him. Derek should sell hugs like this, if he was a hugger. Damn that he isn’t, this is a nice post-panic-attack hug.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I’m so sorry, I swear I’ll never call you anything but your name. Never. I won’t, I promise, please, just—” Derek has been apologizing for a while, Stiles notices, and he’s trembling. Wow, like… actually trembling, the Alpha is trembling like a doe, holy shit.

“Hey,” Stiles says, pulling back, “hey, hey, hey! Woah, dude stop, you’re like… getting emotional are something, do you want me to call Doc Alan or something?”

Derek’s not looking at him. “I’m _sorry_.” What the hell, Derek’s always looking, well _glaring_ , well **_sneering_** at him. Why isn’t Derek looking at him?

Stiles sighs and sits them up. “Look, dude. I’m sorry for freaking out on you like that. I just… No one’s called me that in a long time. I haven’t even said it in a long time. Even Dad knows it’s… kinda sacred.” He tilts himself down so he’s in Derek’s line of sight, which is currently directed at the floor of Stiles’ room. “Derek, man, look at me would you?”

Derek lifts his head and Stiles gapes at the water he finds there. Derek is sincerely near to tears? Damn. So this is serious. This is… “Derek, I just… gah!” he shouts gutturally, dragging his hands down his face. Time to get sappy. “That name is for people I… love. And I don’t want you to say it if I don’t… love… you.” Now Stiles is the one avoiding Derek’s gaze. He can feel that damn flush working it’s way up his face, and he wants to fucking punch it. He settles for punching himself in the thigh. “So… Like, while we’re doing this… fling. Thing. I can’t have you say it. Unless there’s… commitment. So…”

And now he turns to meet Derek’s eyes, and it’s so intense he can’t break the gaze once he has it. “So if you don’t want to do this anymore, get out now.”

His ultimatum hangs heavy in the air, and suddenly Stiles is immensely disappointed his dad isn’t home to barge in and break this awful tension. His mouth itches to fill the silence with speech, anything and everything, all and nothing, but he bites his lip and sits on his hands and curls his toes to stop himself. Derek needs to give him an answer.

Soon.

“Genim…”

It’s a whisper, a plea, an offering. It’s so many things at once, an apology, an invitation, a _gift_. Just like it was on his birth certificate, just like it was coming off his mother’s lips, just like it was when she left. And Stiles is in his arms, straddling his legs, cupping his face with a ferocity he doesn’t feel the least bit sorry for because _werewolf_ , kissing him angrily and hungrily and passionately and ceaselessly.

And Derek is repeating it. “Genim, Genim, Genim, Genim, Genim…” Kissing him in between, kissing it into his neck, his cheeks, his shoulders, his lips, his mouth, his lungs, his every breath.

Stiles is crying as Derek picks him up, carries him to his bed, and kisses him into the mattress with his name on his lips.

Derek stays with him that night, after worshipping him naked and never ceasing his endless stream of his name. And when his wakes up with his first nightmare in more years than he’s had panic attacks, Derek whispers that name again, slowly, soothingly, running a hand through his hair, and Stiles believes for a moment that his mother is acting through his werewolf lover.

He snorts at that thought, burrows into Derek’s side and sleeps peacefully once more.


End file.
